


Sharpshooter: Hit Me Like a Drum

by clickclickBANG



Series: The Connections Between Us [1]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: ...Jesse's version of swearing, Action/Adventure, Awkward Flirting, Canon-Typical Violence, Flirting, Fluff and Humor, Hanzo Shimada doesn't know how to handle him, Jesse McCree doesn't know what to do with himself, M/M, Swearing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-08
Updated: 2017-04-08
Packaged: 2018-10-16 12:11:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,333
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10571052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clickclickBANG/pseuds/clickclickBANG
Summary: A chance (?) encounter between an "oddity" and an archer in a corner ramen store.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Me for the last two months: No, I swear, I have drafts of things! I'm just not ready to post them yet! I'mma wait until Old Habits goes up!
> 
> Me today: I don't care anymore. This is happening. Screw it. 
> 
> According to Google Docs I wrote this on December 2.
> 
> THAT'S HOW LONG IT'S BEEN SITTING IN MY DRIVE FOR.
> 
> Anyways, this is the first in an anthology of short stories that are related to "And Overwatch For All" but don't really have a direct place in the plot. They're mainly a bunch of light, "fluffy" humor and action pieces that are intended to explore more of the different relationships between the characters.
> 
> First up is a familiar cowboy and a lone archer and their...interesting meeting in a Rikimaru Ramen shop.
> 
> \---
> 
> Song: "Hit Me Like A Drum" - Parov Stelar ( https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBu6eEKJH3M ) ( [Youtube link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=cBu6eEKJH3M) )

 

_Your lust is gone -_

_What did you lose?_

_Nothing at all_

_Lights off_

_Drinks up -_

_I'll take you away_

_To someplace new, yeah._

 

_And I know you've heard it all before_

_Leave your questions at the door._

_We don't care who else is there_

_No time to sit around and cry._

_Take my hand and let us fly_

_Next thing you know we're out the door_

 

_Oh, I wanna dance with you and sail through the sun_

_Lie in fluffy clouds while we sip on bottled rum._

_Oh, I wanna dance -_

_Have some syncopated fun._

_I may die before I'm 80_

_But you'll still hear me and my drum._

 

\---------

 

March 4, 2076: 12:36 p.m. - Hanamura, Japan

 

He stares hard at the menu, eyes squinting as they search through the different options.

It is nearly impossible to fully and accurately describe the series of events and mishaps that had led Jesse to Hanamura, Japan of all places - most of it involved actions of dubious legality, black market transport ships of even more dubious legality, a trade-deal gone awry, a few run-ins with Talon and some junkers in Indonesia, an attempted mugging that Jesse had stopped which had rapidly spiralled out of control, and several monkeys and a pig. After the chaos of his last few months in Southeast Asia, Jesse is glad for the relative stability of Japan.

Relative being the operative word.

 _Can’t read a damn thing,_ he realizes much too late. So many signs in Japan are translated into English, French, and German that he kinda thought he could get away with only knowing the short, key phrases Genji had taught him years ago. He had also learned many, pretty goddamn inappropriate phrases too, but he is not about to go slinging those around in a ramen shop.

The place is _busy_ for a Tuesday - more crowded than cattle in a herd. Jesse had always picture Rikimaru Ramen as a kind of...cheesy hole-in-the-wall cheap ramen place from the way Genji used to describe it. And while the description wasn’t really _wrong_ , it certainly didn’t capture _this._

The line in the tiny shop is five people deep, with several already-served patrons crowding around along the different bar seats on the walls. A few human chefs and one robot are busy at the main counter, serving bowl after bowl as people order and then move to what little open seating there is. Every so often, the little hoverbot will bus orders out to the counter, and then rush back to the kitchen, looking as blustered as a bot can due to how busy it is. In fact, Jesse is still practically out the door and on the street, his height giving him the ability to read the menu from across the room.

Genji had always talked about how great Rikimaru Ramen was. Jesse knew for a fact it was one of the things Genji had missed the most about his homeland, though the ninja had never said that outright - there was something in the ache in Genji’s electronic-muffled voice that had alerted Jesse that Genji hadn’t just lost his family and his body in the incident, but had also been forcefully cut from everything he had loved.

Like his favorite foods.

 _And there’s somethin’ real special about comfort food,_ Jesse thinks fondly to himself. He knows the feeling - he’s been craving a real, juicy American burger for the last several months, just like the kind the diner back on Route 66 used to make.

 _Of course,_ Jesse thinks bitterly and a touch guiltily to himself, _I can still eat my comfort food._ Technically the diner at Route 66 was, uh, “no longer bein’ run”, but Jesse could, ya know.

Still actually consume food.

 _Aw, shit, okay, Jesse, focus,_ Jesse snaps to himself, _Don’t be gettin’ all blue and down on yerself. You gotta figure out which one of these is the...spicy pork house ramen...or whatever it was._ He taps a finger to his scruff thoughtfully, forcefully driving back thoughts of his friend and the worry that Genji was still struggling to figure himself out in Nepal -

_Whoa there, partner, ease the fuck up. Don’t do this to yerself in the middle of a fuckin’ ramen shop._

The line is moving, and he’s second now and still doesn’t know which ramen it is he wants. He kinda thought pointing and gesturing to the right one would get his point across, but he doesn’t actually know which one is the spicy pork ramen and _fuck,_ he’s gonna fuck up orderin’ ramen like a true American asshole tourist.

At this point in his life, Jesse is used to the stares. Doesn’t matter where he goes, people oogle him. Well, okay, not _entirely_ true - some parts of Central and Southern America still got some authentic _vaqueros_ and oddly enough some _banditos,_ but even there, Jesse’ height makes him stand easily above most heads and shoulders.

And yes, okay, _maaaaybe_ the hat doesn’t help. But he’ll let the Devil drag him to Hell kicking and screaming before giving up the damn thing.

So he barely notices the glances the poor patrons of Rikimaru are shooting his way when someone behind him taps him just above his right elbow.

Jesse jerks a little, startling out of his semi-mosing thoughts and vacant-eyed stare at the menu to twist and little and glance behind him and _oh Jesus, Mary, Joseph and the Arizona Diamondbacks, what a gorgeous face._

The man behind him is a beautiful mix of high, sweeping curves and careful angles - his face is fairly chiseled but features a softness to it that is offset by the neatly trimmed beard and steady glint in his deep, dark eyes. His jet-black hair, peppered on the sides with some strands of grey, is pulled back into a small ponytail at the back of his head, and Jesse thinks he sees a long yellow...ribbon holding it back. But otherwise the man is dressed in a simple sweatshirt and some black jeans except that -

 _Is that a fucking bow and quiver?_ Jesse wonders. The man is not much shorter than him - only a few inches - but Jesse can see something slung over his shoulder and something else that looks suspiciously like a bunch of arrow feathers poking out from behind his back.

Jesse flicks his eyes from the apparent quiver back to the man’s amazing face and his dark eyes and immediately knows two things:

1 - This man is absolutely the most handsome person Jesse has ever had the blessed fortune of meeting.

2 - He does not understand a word coming out of the man’s mouth.

“...Pardon?” Jesse asks absently, blinking awkwardly. The...archer (?) tilts his head a little and scowls a bit - _oh jackrabbit turds, I pissed him right off_ \- before saying in flawless English, “It is your turn.”

 _Oh._ Jesse thinks lamely. _English_.

“Oh uh, thanks, partner,” Jesse says awkwardly, glancing back towards the counter where one of the chefs is waiting with an expression of stern politeness that is fading into increasing annoyance. Jesse makes eye contact with the chef and she gives him a small handwave of “hurry up, tourist, I don’t have all day.”

“Uh…” Jesse glances back sheepishly at the man behind me, giving him an embarrassed smile, “You wouldn’t happen to know which one is the spicy pork ramen, would you?”

The man’s scowl fades for a quick second before returning, and he says with startlingly serious focus, “Oh. You can’t read it.”

“Uh…no, sorry ‘bout that, darlin’,” Jesse apologizes without thinking and the man raises an eyebrow, asking, “‘Darling?’”

_OH FUCK ME AND MY DUMB ASS_

_Why, yes, please do,_ the wiseass side of Jesse cracks in his head and he fucking _flounders_ over the barrage of shame and embarrassment and attraction.

“Oh, damn, shit, sorry - oh cheese on a cracker, I shouldn’t be swearing, oh god you’re gonna think I was never taught manners - shoot, sugar, I’m so sorry, it’s a bad habit I got from my pa and - _Shit, I just did it again_ \- sorry, it’s been a long trip here and, _oh Lord, I just swore again,_ this is so embarrassing -”

A startled look of wonder blossoms on the man’s face and if Jesse wasn’t so fucking flustered, he would love to try and mentally catalogue how the man looks so open and surprised. Jesse is in the middle of tripping over his words when the unthinkable happens.

A miracle occurs.

The man gives a surprisingly broad and genuinely happy grin and starts to laugh.

It’s not a deep, booming laugh, nor a hearty chuckle, nor a giggle, but it’s a heartfelt, happy sound that bubbles over in slight sighs of breath and a soft rumble from the man’s chest, and Jesse thinks it might be the most incredible thing he’s ever heard. The laugh lights up all the man’s features with a warm glow and Jesse notices he has laugh lines along that beautiful face.

It makes his face go from “wow, he’s attractive” to “holy fucking shit, he’s _perfect_.”

The man gives a soft, chuckling cough and tilts those eyes back up towards Jesse and the dark brown seems to have turned warm with amusement.

Jesse would embarrass his dumb cowboy self every God damn day to see that happen again. And again. And again.

“There is no need to apologize,” the man smirks, “I am not very familiar with your type of English, but it does not offend me. It caught me by surprise.”

 _Oh, honey, you don’t even know,_ Jesse thinks sharply but all he says is, “Oh.”

“Many Japanese are surprised by how casual Americans are in English, but perhaps that is why we work so well with you. We appreciate that your...unique brand of friendliness is so different from our own,” the man explains, and Jesse just nods along, not trusting himself to speak. The man points to the second item on the menu, adding on, “You want the Tastiest Ramen in the World, spicy version. Here, let me tell them for you.”

At this, Jesse’s dumb mouth revs up again for round two of “Embarrass the fuck outta Jesse McCree”:

“Oh, no, no, it’s fine, oh shoot, I’ll just tell her I want the second one - that’s _ni_ , right? Two? Shit, it’s been years - oh, _no, I did it again_ -”

“It is fine, I will tell her,” the man says, moving up to speak to the chef. He says something fast in liquid Japanese, and then turns to Jesse asking, “Any changes to that?”

“Oh, shoot, sugar, no, uh, just whatever they put in it. I just wanted to try it,” Jesse stammers, shoving his hands awkwardly in his pockets. The man smiles, a more subdued smile this time, but a good smile all the same, and says something again to the chef.

And this - Jesse will always thank his parents, Gabriel Reyes, Ana Amari, Jack Morrison, God, all the patron saints, and Big Bird for instilling his “unique brand of American friendliness” into him for this moment of pure genius.

“Let me get yours too.”

The man cocks his head back towards Jesse and asks, “何?”

“Your order. Put yours on too. I’ll pay. My thanks for helping me out,” Jesse says, not nearly as sheepish as he thought he would be about buying the other man’s lunch. The man gives him an open stare and for a second, Jesse thinks he will refuse, but after a moment the man says politely, “Thank you. I appreciate the offer. You truly do not have to.”

“My treat, promise.”

“...Then I will accept.” He turns back to the chef and they exchange a few words before he turns back to Jesse with, “She says it will be fifteen-hundred yen when we are finished with the meal.”

“Sounds good to me,” Jesse smiles at her, as if he somehow had a say in the prices.

The man nods to the chef and the two men step off to the side. The man spots a couple of open seats on the bar beneath the big menu on the side wall and nods to them. They squeeze their way in, with Jesse’s knees knocking awkwardly against the underside of the counter. The other man sits with a little more grace and practiced ease, and now that they’re side by side, Jesse can confirm that it is, in fact, a bow and quiver on his back.

“Sorry ‘bout all that. Name’s Jesse,” Jesse says, shifting a little in his seat and offering his right, normal hand. The man glances at it, but takes it anyways, saying politely, “Hanzo. And it is no matter. We Japanese have our own kind of friendliness too.” He gives a smug little smirk at that and Jesse would give up his remaining good arm to see all of the different types of smiles the man - Hanzo - can make. Hanzo’s hand is warm and calloused in his and Jesse finds himself wishing he could just hold it for a bit.

 _Don’t be rude, just be normal._ Jesse almost snorts at the thought. He’s never been able to do that.

“Hanzo, eh? That’s a nice name. Oh shoot, was I supposed to give you my surname instead?” Jesse mutters, drawing his hand back and is embarrassed internally at how much he already misses the contact.

“It is fine. I have worked with Americans before - so many Westerners prefer to use their names instead of their family names,” Hanzo says simply.

“Ah, yeah, most Americans go by their first name all the time,” Jesse explains, “Not many people use their surnames. You guys - you also have those, uh...suffixes, the uh…”

“Honorifics, you call them in English,” Hanzo explains, “I was surprised when I was learning English that you had a term for them in this language. I do not think Japanese even has a word for them.”

“When did you start learning English?” Jesse asks, leaning a little closer. It’s crowded at the counter and he’s already so bulky in both build and clothing and he doesn’t want to bump the patron next to him. Plus, he’ll take any excuse to be a little closer to Hanzo.

“Ah, I think I began at about...eight or nine years old?” Hanzo says, frowning a little as he remembers, “My father - he was very insistent that I needed to know English and know it well. We did a lot of business with Americans here in Japan and even some British out of Hong Kong.”

“Well, shoot, no wonder you speak it better than me,” Jesse near whistles, and Hanzo seems to blush very faintly at the words and _god damn, god damn._

Jesse is a-thousand-percent royally, abysmally _fucked_ on this one.

He’s had his fair share of relationships before - when he can actually untie his tongue, Jesse knows he can be real charming. Oh sure, also mighty cocksure and sometimes his casual attitude frustrates people, but Jesse knows how to work his Southwestern magic. Various members in Deadlock, Overwatch, and Blackwatch had always fallen for Jesse, and Jesse had attempted real relationships before...though they never quite seemed to work out.

 _Y’all can thank the truckload of guilt and PTSD for that,_ a bitter thought twists in his head, but Jesse shoves it back down. He doesn’t want bitterness to mar this meeting.

Because truly, Jesse has never been this goddamn starstruck over someone this fast before. It’s been all of four or five minutes and Jesse can already feel the excitement circulating in him.

He wants to do well with this.

And he has a gut feeling that Hanzo might be receptive to that.

“What kind of business were y’all doing?” Jesse asks, touching the internal “Southwestern twang” up a little bit. However, his sharp eyes don’t miss the way Hanzo flinches for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting away before returning with a little overly-smooth glint to them and a slightly hard edge to his voice.

“Just informations technology.”

“Mmm,” Jesse hums a little, mainly mulling over that miniscule reaction in his head. Blackwatch had taught him to read people well, and although Jack had always been hesitant to let the young agent do such...difficult work, he had always encouraged Jesse to be open to reading other people.

_“Learning to interpret the little signs will always be helpful,” Jack had said to him after Gabriel had introduced increasingly difficult levels of covert ops training. Usually, Jesse went to Ana in situations where he sometimes felt...like he wasn’t doing well, but Ana had been out for that day and Jack had offered to listen._

_“When people lie - and it’s a lie they haven’t practiced much, they’ll go on the defensive,” Jack had explained, and Jesse had been surprised to learn that Jack was..._ terrifyingly good _at reading people. “You’ll see pupils shrink a little, their bodies will tense up, they may not say as much. But it’s a very learned skill, so it will take some time. Most lies, though, are very practiced. You won’t be able to tell. If you want the truth, the best method is always to control the conversation.”_

Jesse isn’t sure he actually wants to control the conversation into that direction.

“The American economy is not quite what it once was, but we are always lookin’ out for new technology,” Jesse continues, trying to steer the conversation in a different direction. In an effort to distract, he waves his prosthetic left hand and Hanzo shifts his gaze, eyeing it calmly. “Stuff like this, although prosthetics ain’t nothing special these days.”

“Does it have all the senses?” Hanzo asks politely and Jesse nods, “Everything but pain, which is the real beauty of it. Real fine piece of work, almost better than my real hand. Got some sort of...ultra fast neurological relays or something, and the palm and fingers got some sorta ‘fine touch’ handling. I dunno what Angela said ‘bout it, been years and it works great though.”

“Angela?”

“Oh sorry, she’s the surgeon who worked on fixin’ it up and attaching it to all my nerves,” Jesse says casually, “Really nice lady, practically a sister to me, ain’t seen her in awhile though.”

“Ah...yes,” Hanzo says softly, eyes distant, “We must value those who are family to us.”

_Aw, shit shit shit, that went the wrong way real fast -_

“Ah, well, it ain’t so bad, I’ll see her again at some point,” Jesse stammers out quickly, backpedaling fast, “And she and I always did have our disagreements on it. My hand I mean. Never wanted me to use it with my revolver although I kept tellin’ her I was a dead good shot with both hands.”

“Ah yes,” Hanzo mutters and a more present light returns to his eyes, “That is very brazen of you, walking around with a gun in Japan. You are just asking for trouble.”

“Like you’re one to talk, mister,” Jesse snaps but his tone is playful, “A bow and quiver? What year is this?”

“Everyone knows archery is not as it once was,” Hanzo says, but there’s a smugness to his tone and a gleam to his eye that makes Jesse thinks the archer is hiding something, “After all, there’s no way a bow and arrow has the same power as a gun.”

“I reckon yer screwin’ with me.”

“Why, I would never, mister cowboy.”

“I don’t trust ya on that matter for one second,” Jesse insists, “We’re gonna need to find a range to practice because now I gotta see how you work that thing.” Hanzo tilts his head, expression wide in mock surprise (and perhaps a little wide in actual surprise at how Jesse had just invited himself into Hanzo’s uh...hobby like that), but he smirks, “Only if you show me how that revolver still works. Is it actually from the Wild West, or is it just for show?”

 _Oh, honey, I’d give you whatever show you want_ , Jesse thinks and opens his mouth to say a slightly more tame version of the thought, when there’s a beeping behind them. They turn and the little robot is there, hovering their bowls of ramen with gravity-resistant propulsions. They give it a little room and it gingerly sets the one with the reddish soup in front of Jesse, and the more brownish one in front of Hanzo before beeping cheerfully again and zooming off.

Jesse leans in and he can practically feel the heat of the spices hitting his face. He whistles, “Mama Mia, that’s a spicy meatball.”

Hanzo gives him the most confused look as he snaps a pair of disposable chopsticks from the dispenser. “There...are no meatballs in there,” he both states and asks.

“Oh, shoot, darlin’, I was just, uh, being clever,” Jesse says. And then he wilts a little, “Although I guess that’s a pretty niche brand of ‘clever’ if only I find it funny.”

Hanzo chuckles a little, dipping his chopsticks in with ease and drawing out some noodles, “As long as you entertain yourself - which I am certain you must do well and often - then that is all that matters.”

Jesse frowns at that. “Did ya just insult me or compliment me?”

“Perhaps it is - what is the phrase - a ‘why not both’ situation?” Hanzo asks with a sly smile, before snapping up the ramen he’s holding.

Jesse worries briefly that he might actually be in love with a stranger after ten minutes of meeting him in line at a corner ramen shop.

Jesse snaps his own pair of chopsticks and dips them in the soup with a pout, fishing up some noodles while saying, “All I wanted was a nice relaxing trip to Japan. It’s been a helluva few months and all I wanted to do was eat some ramen and visit a hot spring and see Mount Fuji and a li’l bit of peace and quiet and instead I’m gettin’ ripped up by some smartass archer.”

“Oooh, ‘smart ass,’ “ Hanzo states with deliberate pronunciation and a sparklingly wonder and Jesse wonders how a man in his...early forties? Late thirties? It’s hard to tell, but how a fully grown, adult Japanese archer in a hoodie sipping ramen noodles can look so magical while muttering the word “smartass”. Hanzo mutters it a few more times and Jesse feels something bordering on regret.

_I should not have taught him that._

“...I like this term,” Hanzo says with finality, cheerfully dipping his chopsticks back in and grabbing more noodles.

“...I knew I would regret opening my big, stupid mouth,” Jesse sighs, before stuffing said mouth full of noodles. They are, in fact, really fucking hot and his whole tongue and throat light up with a pleasant burn. God damn, does he love spicy food.

And wow, they weren’t exactly lying - this is some damn tasty ramen.

“No, no,” Hanzo says brightly, “Your big, stupid, _smartass_ mouth.”

Jesse almost chokes on noodles, heat, and laughter and he swallows it down with a wince and some tears. “Oh...oh my god,” he stumbles, grabbing a napkin and wiping at his mouth, “Oh my god. You just...I can’t believe…”

Hanzo gives him this giant smug grin - and holy hell, it’s _beautiful._

“You are the one who called me a ‘smartass archer.’ I did not deny this.”

Jesse rubs his metal hand over his face and eventually just bites the bullet. Because, in the words of Gabriel Reyes - “Fuck it.”

“Look, Hanzo, I know we literally just got lunch, but seriously, please let me get you dinner -”

Behind them, there’s a burst of violent shouting in Japanese and people shrieking and Jesse dimly has time to think, _Of course. It would be too easy for the world to just give me half an hour to flirt with a handsome stranger._

And then, at the same time, both Jesse and Hanzo are on their feet, their gun and bow drawn respectively.

There are a bunch of people dressed in black clothes with tacky flames and tigers and weird sparkles blocking the open doorframe to the street. They’re carrying a bunch of bats and clubs and one is even wearing brass knuckles. Jesse ain’t worried about that - he’s been in enough bar brawls and come out pretty unscathed to know he can handle the petty punks, but it’s the guy closest to the chef counter that concerns him.

The man - the leader of the little gang - is pointing a .45 at the chefs, wildly moving it back and forth between the four of them and the tiny robot, which is bobbing about anxiously. The leader is shouting something in Japanese, and the chef closest to him is waving their hands, muttering, “お願い, お願い,” over and over.

 _Please_. Now that is one of the appropriate Japanese words Jesse knows.

Beside him, Hanzo shouts something back at the gang, notching an arrow in the bow. The eyes of all the gang members turn towards the two of them, and Jesse can see them falter a little. They hadn’t anticipated people with real weapons, although some of them nudge each other and point at Hanzo’s bow, whispering.

Now that the room is quiet, Hanzo says something again, in a lower volume but with an icy cold chill to his voice. Jesse flicks his eyes towards the archer and sees a deadly calm in that hard glare. He knows that expression - he’s seen it on Gabriel and Ana and Jack and other Blackwatch agents and supposedly, even on his own face before - once when he had caught a flash of his reflection in a one-way mirror in an interrogation room.

The hard look of someone used to demanding things at gunpoint.

...or arrow-point.

Jesse knows two more things for the day:

3 - Rikimaru Ramen might actually have the tastiest ramen in the world.

4 - Do _NOT_ fuck with Hanzo.

The leader of the gang snaps something at Hanzo, moving the gun towards him instead and Jesse sees Hanzo tense, drawing back the string a little.

And in the words of Gabriel Reyes:

Fuck it.

Jesse tilts the revolver at the leader’s right foot and fires.

There’s the bang of his gun and people are shrieking, screaming, but Jesse and Hanzo are moving, rushing towards the group. Jesse catches two off-guard, clocking them in the face with simultaneous punches. Hanzo immediately throws a fist into the leader’s gut even though the man is already crumpling from the pain of the gunshot. Having dropped the arrow somewhere, the archer deftly slides his free hand to the leader's hand holding the gun and he yanks it back hard, causing him to drop the gun to the floor.

Jesse meanwhile, has managed to block the blow of a bat with his metal hand, and he whips his elbow around to the man’s face, snapping a hard blow across his cheeks and causing the assailant to fall back. He shoves a fist in the man’s chest and punches him down, before rounding on the fourth and final one.

But the last guy just turns and runs off down the street, shrieking.

Jesse makes to go after him when he feels a hand grab his right arm roughly. Suddenly he’s being jerked out onto the street but up and around the corner, and he twists himself around to see Hanzo pulling him along at full sprint. He stumbles a little at the sudden turn but rights himself and rushes along, feeling surprisingly okay that Hanzo is just jerking him around to God knows where in a city he’s never been to before.

Heh. Jerking.

They twist up and down several alleys and streets, pushing past people - Hanzo saying nothing, but Jesse stammering out “pardon’s” and “‘cuse me’s” - before coming to a rest several blocks away. They’re behind an old wooden house of some sort and an older concrete office building, leaning against the walls and breathing hard. Jesse catches a bit of his breath before noticing that -

“You took - ” he wheezes, “You took the gun?”

“I…” Hanzo starts, glancing down at it, “I had to. I could not leave it there.”

“Why not? Let the police handle it.”

“No, no, it would just…” Hanzo makes an unreadable expression, dark and intense and confused, “It would just complicate things.”

“...Information technologies, my ass,” Jesse heaves, right himself. Hanzo glares at him, his gaze sharp and fierce and it sends a shiver down Jesse’s spine. Jesse puts up his hands in an “ease off” gesture and says, “I ain’t askin’ no more questions, so don’t look at me like that. ‘Sides, I ain’t one to preach.” Jesse holsters Peacemaker and holds out his hand again.

“Name’s Jesse McCree, ex-Blackwatch agent and want - ”

“I know,” Hanzo says blithely.

“...What.”

Hanzo shrugs casually, “I read stuff, Jesse. You’re wanted in three states in America for some robberies and gang activities.”

“I’ll have you know I was trying to stop those - ”

“I know that too.”

Jesse’s jaw drops mid-sentence. Hanzo just smiles. A surprisingly patient, gentle smile - Jesse thinks this one might actually be the best one he’s seen yet. “You are a surprising cowboy. A unique brand of friendliness. A sharpshooter.”

And then Hanzo gives a wolfish grin.

“And a smartass.”

“I just _knew_ I’d be regrettin’ that,” Jesse moans and Hanzo laughs that amazing laughter again and Jesse feels surprisingly okay with how the world screwed with him today. Only got a bite of Rikimaru Ramen, but ended up with the Best Archer in the World - spicy version.

“So are you gonna introduce yourself now?” Jesse sighs, eyeing Hanzo with a breezy smile. Hanzo stiffens a little but relaxes almost immediately, a sly smirk on his beautiful face. “I think not.”

“Aw, c’mon, I told you mine, so you gotta tell me yours.”

“That was not a deal we made,” Hanzo states, slinging his bow over his shoulder. He flashes that smirk and there’s a little bit of that cold glint in his eyes again, but just a hint of a threat as he says snappishly, “Besides, I’m sure my family name was on a Blackwatch list somewhere. And I would rather not spoil this moment with...unpleasantries.”

Jesse masks his shift in emotions, but inside he has put together what he was distantly hoping wasn’t true, or was just him overthinking.

But Jesse knows something about the Blackwatch wanted lists.

There is only one “Hanzo” on them.

He doesn’t want to steer the conversation in that direction.

But he may...shoot a quick message to Genji at some point, although he has no idea if Genji is anywhere available to receive it. Last he had heard from Fareeha, Genji was somewhere in Nepal, searching for spiritual answers to his emotional dilemmas.

So Jesse does what he does best.

He touches that internal “Southwestern twang” dial up a little more and gives Hanzo a smoky, roguish grin. He’s mighty pleased to see the barest flush of color grace Hanzo’s cheeks.

“Pretty sure American hospitality states that I technically didn’t actually treat you to lunch with that kinda brawl, archer. Know where they got the Second Tastiest Ramen in the World around here? I’ll pay.”

\---------

 

_And I know you've heard it all before_

_Leave your questions at the door._

_We don't care who else is there_

_No time to sit around and cry._

_Take my hand and let us fly_

_Next thing you know we're out the door._

 

_Oh, I wanna dance with you and sail through the sun_

_Lie in fluffy clouds while we sip on bottled rum._

_Oh, I wanna dance -_

_Have some syncopated fun._

_I may die before I'm 80_

_But you'll still hear me and my drum._

 

_Lets run off and we'll go chase our fairy tales_

_They don't need to come -_

_You, me_

_And our fairy tales -_

_Your soul, and my drum._

 


End file.
